


Carbon Made

by sophiahelix



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, M/M, Pining, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: Yuri is seventeen years old and he wants everything andnothingand for Victor and Yuuri to smile at him like they do at each other. Not lofty and condescending, like they're humoring a child; he wants that dark and secret smile, thatsee you in the room latersmirk, that warm, knowing gaze. To be inside, not outside. To be wanted.





	Carbon Made

**Author's Note:**

> Yuri is over the age of consent for Russia, but I have used the underage tag in accordance with AO3 guidelines.
> 
>  
> 
> I started this story summer August 2017 as a last-minute treat for the Rare Pairs exchange; 4K later it was obviously going to be a much longer story than I envisioned, and I shelved it until this fall when it started calling to me again.
> 
> Thanks so much to ignaz for multiple rounds of beta and discussion!

Gold didn't truly mean anything until Victor returned.

Yuri will never forget his first major win, standing exuberant and exhausted on the podium in Barcelona. He'd put his whole self into his performance, pushed past every limit, and been rewarded just as he’d always dreamed. A record short program score, and now the highest step, with the Russian colors behind him. Katsudon had come close, but Yuri had triumphed in the end.

And then Victor took gold, easily, at Worlds three months later.

They’ve traded placements amongst the three of them this season. Katsudon won the Grand Prix this time, breaking his own record in the free. Victor beat Yuri at Russian Nationals and Euros, taking back his short program record, but Katsudon triumphed in the hard-fought melee in Korea, tears streaming down his stupid face beneath the Olympic laurels. It wasn't until tonight that Yuri stood above them both: world champion, short program record holder again, with the gold medal heavy and bright around his neck.

And after, Victor and Katsudon _smiled_ , congratulating him, warm and heartfelt like it didn't even matter that he’d beaten them.

Yuri clenched his jaw and watched them walk away from the medal ceremony, absorbed in each other like always. At the practice rink in St Petersburg, at dinner, even at important competitions like this, they’re shameless and joyful, unfettered in their love. It's taken a whole season of training and competing with them for the feelings to bubble to the surface — not just the old, furious, formless irritation, but sharper, uglier emotions. Resentment. Envy. _Jealousy_.

Yuri is seventeen years old and he wants everything and _nothing_ and for Victor and Yuuri to smile at him like they do at each other. Not lofty and condescending, like they're humoring a child; he wants that dark and secret smile, that _see you in the room later_ smirk, that warm, knowing gaze. To be inside, not outside. To be wanted.

He's grown taller the past season, enough that he hopes this is the end of it. He's put on more muscle too, making his jumps stronger even as his spins are less flexible. After some deliberation he's cut his hair, but not too much; he doesn't need another comparison to Victor, making a dramatic aesthetic change as his entry to adulthood. He likes it where it is now, still falling in his eyes and giving him a screen to watch the world behind.

Yuri watches them now, at the banquet. He's been at enough galas with them to know how it goes, Victor letting Yuuri drink just enough to be loose and laughing, a sparkle in his eyes. Near the end Victor will steer him towards the door, unobtrusive but determined, and then they'll vanish upstairs to do things Yuri can only imagine. He doesn't _want_ to imagine it, but he does.

Tonight Victor is drinking too, with an obvious release of tension in his body. He struggled in the short program yesterday but made it up tonight, landing in third and looking pleased about it. He always seems happiest when Katsudon places higher than him, Yuri thinks with irritation. 

No one is around to stop him from drinking three glasses of champagne. There's a tight, churning feeling in his gut, the one he gets when he has a bad idea and is about to do it anyway. Like going to Japan to jump through hoops just for some stupid choreography, like sharing his grandfather’s food with Yuuri in Russia, like trying to hurt Victor with his words on the beach in Barcelona. It's a bad idea, getting close to these two, but it's like a fire Yuri can't resist testing, putting his hand to the flame. He always gets burned, and he always tries again.

Three glasses and a gold medal are what it takes for him to follow Victor and Yuuri out of the banquet room.

He has to shake some media, some sponsors, and Yakov, who's stopped chatting with ISU brass and come in search of him, like he finally realized the danger in leaving Yuri on his own. Yakov doesn't usually let him drink, but Yuri is a first-class, world champion athlete, and there's no way he can't give the slip to some old men. Things go a little crooked when he turns his head too fast, and the crowd seems obnoxiously loud and close when he pushes through, but he's sober enough to find the door.

The other two are nowhere in sight, and then he hears a laugh from down the hall, near the elevators. It's Katsudon, low and incredulous, like Victor is doing something to him that he shouldn't be doing in public. Yuri’s face burns hot, and he breaks into a run, chasing after them.

The elevator doors are just sliding open when he comes around the corner and skids to a stop. Victor has his arm around Yuuri’s waist, a hand resting on his ass, and he's kissing Yuuri’s neck with small, nipping bites. Katsudon is laughing, one hand planted on Victor’s chest like he's pushing him away, but Yuri can see that his fingers are clenched in Victor’s shirt.

“Wait,” Yuri says.

He hates how small and rough his voice is, cracking in the middle of the word. They turn to look at him, and the color is so high in Yuuri’s face, his eyes bright. Victor smiles, slow and awful, and Yuri bites his lip, rage burning through him.

“Yurio!” Victor says, and the rage burns hotter. Victor hasn't called him that in a while. “Did you want something?”

Yuri makes fists of his hands and walks forward. The world is as unsteady as before, and he's horrified to realize he's taken a step in the wrong direction before he corrects himself. Victor laughs softly as Yuri comes closer. 

“Yurio, have you been drinking?” Victor asks, looking down fondly.

“I won,” Yuri says, shortly. “I wanted to celebrate.”

“Eh, the banquet is back there,” Yuuri says, with a look that probably means _go away_. He leans into Victor more.

“I don't want to hang around with those stuffy old men!” Yuri snaps.

Victor laughs again. “That's a compliment, Yurio! But we’re stuffy old men too.” He nods at Yuuri, his eyes bright. “Very boring.”

“Don't call me that,” Yuri says. He glares between the two of them. “I know you're going back to your room to drink. You always have better alcohol than they serve,” he says to Victor, poking him in the arm hard.

Victor’s smile burns low now, a dangerous simmer. He looks at Yuri a moment longer, then back at Katsudon. “What do you think? Should we have Yurio up for a drink?”

“ _Yuri_ ,” Yuri says, warningly, but they ignore him.

He watches them look at each other. There's something here he's noticed for a while, the way it's always Yuuri who makes the final decision. How Victor lets him.

“All right,” Yuuri says, at long last, wetting his lips. “One drink.”

He's still looking up at Victor, frowning slightly, like he's trying to figure something out. Victor spreads a big smile on his face and turns to push the button again, now that the doors have slid closed.

The elevator ride seems to make Yuri more intoxicated, or at least it reminds him how tipsy he really is. Or maybe it's just from staring at them, the way Yuuri nestles into Victor, their hands so possessive on each other. He knows he shouldn't be here, that there's a hot, hungry energy between them, but maybe — maybe it’s drawing him in too. Yuuri keeps sneaking little glances over at him, and they're serious, considering glances. Like he's trying to make his mind up about something.

Victor just smiles and smiles, like he already knows everything. Stupid Victor.

Yuri stumbles, coming out of the elevator. This time it's Katsudon at his elbow, steadying him. “Careful. You don't want an injury.”

“I'm fine,” Yuri snarls, yanking his arm away, but he can still feel Yuuri’s grip, sending goosebumps all over his skin. He stomps towards their room, not wanting to follow behind like a kid. Not wanting to watch their faces as they talk about him without using words.

He hears them murmuring behind him, though, and he thinks he hears his own name. He lifts his head higher, pretending not to hear.

At the door, Yuri waits impatiently as Victor swipes his card through the lock, the red light beeping three times. “Give it here,” Yuri says, and snatches the card away. He slides it slowly and correctly, and the light blinks green as the lock disengages with a click. Yuri smirks.

He looks up to see them watching him, Katsudon with that same appraising gaze as before. 

“You've got a skillful touch, Yurachka,” Victor says, sounding like he's holding back laughter.

“Burn in hell,” Yuri says, and tosses his hair out of his eyes as he turns to open the door.

His face is still hot with the consciousness of their gaze, though. Victor is being an ass like always, but Yuuri looked more earnest, like maybe he's feeling a little of this sudden heat too. Like Yuri’s not as much on the outside as before.

“Where's your booze, old man?” Yuri demands, as Victor turns on the light behind him. It illuminates the two beds, pushed together in the middle of the room, surrounded by suitcases and clothing. Victor always brings so many things on the road. Katsudon stops by the hall closet, slipping off his suit coat and undoing his tie. 

Victor takes off his own coat, tossing it to Yuuri to put away. “I’ll get the bottle from the fridge.” He tugs at his tie too, and comes further into the room to drop it on the dresser. “You can get the glasses from the bathroom.”

“Dammit, I'm not your servant,” Yuri says, but he pushes past Victor back into the narrow hall.

“Uh, do you want me to hang up your coat?” Yuuri asks him.

He’s holding out a hand. Yuri gives him a long look, blinking, and then shrugs out of his coat. Even though he's still wearing his dress shirt beneath, there's something about it that brings back those goosebumps, taking off his clothes when Yuuri asks. They've seen each other undress often enough in training, but this feels different. 

Their fingertips brush as he hands the coat over, and Yuri can't hold back a shiver now. His eyes flick up and he sees it there on Yuuri’s face too, a heightened awareness, whatever this is that's happening tonight. 

“Thanks,” Yuri says, gruffly, and goes in the bathroom to get the glasses. 

He stops once he's in there, trying to get a hold of himself. He's hot all over, and he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. It feels like his suspenders are digging into his shoulders, and he's a little sorry he wore them but these pants wouldn’t stay up otherwise, now his weight’s down at the end of the season. Yuri stares at his own face in the mirror, brushing his hair out of his eyes and then letting it fall back again.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Victor is already sitting on the far bed, uncapping the vodka. Yuuri’s lying in the middle watching him, stretched out on the place where the mattresses touch. It can't be comfortable, and it takes up more room than strictly necessary, leaving not much space on the closer bed. He rolls onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head, and looks up at Yuri, wetting his lips like he did downstairs in the lobby. It's more sure now, less hesitant, and there's a challenge in his eyes, like he's made up his mind.

Yuri stands there for a moment, a sudden hesitation sweeping over him, and then Victor looks up and sees him. “Yurachka! Bring me the glasses, you're a terrible waiter. So slow.”

“Fuck off,” Yuri says, automatically, feeling secretly grateful to have the moment broken. He gets on the bed, kneeling up to pass the glasses to Victor, careful not to touch Yuuri as he does. He can still feel Yuuri watching him.

Victor pours out a glass and passes it across. Yuri looks down and makes a face at the amount. 

“This is just a splash! A baby could handle more than this.”

“Are you calling yourself a baby?” Katsudon drawls, from beneath him.

“I'm Russian!” Yuri snaps. “Come on, Victor, give me more than that.”

Victor raises an eyebrow, but reaches over to dribble a little more vodka into the glass. He pours out two more, and Yuuri sits up to take his. Victor raises his glass and they all clink together.

“Поехали!” Victor says, and Yuri shoots him a sharp glance. He’s heard his grandfather say that at the beginning of a night of drinking with friends, but _let’s get started_ feels like a totally different toast in this scenario. He wonders if Yuuri knows what it means.

“Pah-yee-khali,” Yuuri says, badly. His Russian hasn’t improved much, even after over a year in Petersburg. He tips the glass into his mouth, drinking it all in one long swallow.

“To our friendship,” Yuri says, carefully, in Russian. 

This time it's Victor shooting him a glance, less arch than before. Serious and considering, like Yuuri in the elevator. “I've never heard such sweet words from you,” is all he says, though, in English.

Yuri throws back his glass of vodka. It's a little more than he can handle, a few drops spilling out at the sides of his mouth, and then he’s half-choking over the cold, tasteless, burning liquid as he swallows it down.

Katsudon reaches over and pats his back as he coughs. “I guess you should have had less vodka in your baby bottle.”

“Shut up,” Yuri says furiously, when he can speak again. It feels like there's a fire in his chest and soft edges on everything, including the two faces still close to his, watching him. He swallows hard and things settle a little, coming into focus. He glares between them.

Yuuri laughs. “Eh, it was a good competition,” he says, lying back on the bed. He tucks his hands behind his head again and a satisfied smile comes across his face. “You did so well today. Yuri.” He says it softly, a little teasing, like he knows Yuri always calls him _Katsudon_ to his face because it feels weird to say his own name. 

“He did,” Victor says. He collects the glasses and puts them on the nightstand, then stretches out on his side next to Yuuri, propped on his elbow and his knees drawn up, one leg resting on Yuuri’s thigh. He strokes over Yuuri’s stomach, pulling his white dress shirt out of his trousers a little, but it's absent and casual, like he's just used to touching Yuuri this way.

Yuri is left kneeling alone, still flushed and a little dizzy. He doesn't know what he should do now, if he's supposed to leave after his one drink or lie down on the other side of Yuuri. He wants, suddenly, to do the opposite of whatever he's supposed to do, whatever they expect him to do. Wants to act on a bad idea.

Before he can do anything, though, Yuuri speaks. “He skated so well, I think he deserves a reward. Don't you think so, Victor?”

Yuri jerks his gaze up, startled. Victor is still stroking Yuuri’s chest, and he looks calm and dreamy, the teasing laughter gone from his face. “Certainly. But that's really up to him.”

If Yuri thought his face had been hot at any point before, it was nothing compared to this. He feels like he must be bright red, his blood fiery and pulsing through his body. He's not totally certain they're saying what he thinks they are, if they know how he feels or if it's just this strange magic tonight, weaving strong and binding between them.

Now Yuuri sits up with that serious, appraising look again, like he's being careful about something. He opens his mouth partway, and then closes it. “Mm,” he says, thoughtful. “Yuri. What would you like?”

Yuri just stares at him, heat still pulsing in his face. There's so much in his head, and he's not sure how to get it out, or if he dares. His glance flicks sideways, to Victor, watching them. Victor nods his head, encouraging, and Yuri takes in a shaky breath.

Slowly, waiting for one of them to say something, to laugh, to push him away, he reaches out. Yuuri’s brown eyes stay on his all the while, warm and light, waiting.

He touches Yuuri’s chest, and then slides his hand up to curve around the side of Yuuri’s neck, thumb resting in the hollow of his throat, where his shirt is unbuttoned. Yuuri’s skin is warm and soft, a little damp beneath Yuri’s thumb, and he makes a low sound, not quite a laugh and not quite a gasp, as Yuri touches him.

“You,” Yuri mutters. 

He can't believe, for a dizzy moment, that they're really here. That he's finally gotten to this place he's been craving so long; touching Yuuri, the tension so hot and fine-strung between them. The weight of Victor’s eyes on him, the patient, gentle fire of Yuuri’s gaze, all of them breathing hard enough to be heard in the quiet room.

Yuuri sits up more, leaning closer. His hands come up to cradle Yuri’s face, and Yuri startles at the heat of his palms. Yuuri holds him steady and firm, and he couldn't look away if he wanted. 

“If,” Yuuri says, “you do exactly as I say.”

He leans in close, until Yuri’s eyes go crossed and he feels the warmth of Yuuri’s mouth, near enough to touch.

“Then you can have me tonight,” Yuuri whispers.

Yuri nods, closing his eyes. He holds his breath, feeling the wild pound of his heart, and then he leans in.

He always thought this would be hard, desperate. Giving way in the moment, kissing Yuuri in passion or in anger, or maybe both. Maybe after escaping some dangerous situation, or in an empty hallway at the rink. Yuri’s thought about it a lot. He never thought it would be like this, finding his way forward with eyes shut, drawn to Yuuri’s heat in the darkness but moving slowly, almost afraid to let it happen. Even with the fuzz around the edges of his perception, it’s somehow too real.

He hears Victor’s sigh when at last their mouths meet, and it adds another level of piercing awareness. He's kissing Yuuri, and Victor is watching them, and he can have whatever he wants, even if it's only for tonight.

Yuuri lets him. His lips are soft and giving, beneath Yuri’s mouth, and he parts them a little, welcoming Yuri in. He tastes sweet, when their tongues meet for just a moment before withdrawing. Yuri’s chest clenches tight, and then he leans in more, pressing their mouths together, warm and wet and plush.

“Ah,” Victor says, beside them. “That's good. Kiss him like that, gentle, he likes it at first. Take your time, Yurio.”

Before he thinks, Yuri turns his head and breaks the kiss. “Don't call me that,” he snaps.

Yuuri laughs. “Be nice, Victor.” He tugs gently at Yuri, stroking his face. “Come on, focus. Or are you distracted so easily?”

He's teasing, but anger bubbles through Yuri, good and strengthening. Being annoyed with them both is familiar ground. “I'll give you focus,” he says, and turns back to kiss Yuuri again.

Like that, the anguished heat returns, his heart pounding in his chest. He kisses Yuuri a little harder and Yuuri moans against his mouth, opening wide now. It sends a rush through Yuri, and he's thinking of everything he wants to do, wants to have. There's so much.

He leans in, until Yuuri lies back on the bed again. Yuri follows, not quite bold enough to lie between his legs yet, just resting on Yuuri’s chest as they keep kissing. Yuuri’s hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, and he wonders if this is what Yuuri does for Victor, if Victor likes it. 

Victor moves too, sliding down the bed. Yuri’s busy working their tongues together and drinking in Yuuri’s little murmurs, but he hears the sound of a zipper and shifting cloth. Yuuri moves beneath him, lifting his hips, and Yuri breaks off to look over his shoulder at Victor, pulling down Yuuri’s black dress pants.

Victor smiles at him, eyes shining, head bent over Yuuri’s waist. “Keep going,” he says, low and infuriating. 

Yuri doesn't need the encouragement. He kisses Yuuri again, relishing the fullness of his lips and the possessive pull of his hands, but he can't stop thinking about what Victor is doing. Yuuri lets out a moan, and then he arches up more, chasing Yuri’s mouth. Victor shifts, moving rhythmically, and heat blazes through Yuri as he realizes what's happening.

He wants to look so badly, but he doesn't want to lose this, Yuuri cradling his head and letting him lick into his mouth. He's thought about it so many times, and the reality is even better; Yuuri’s sweet breath as he pants between kisses, his delicate hands moving over the nape of Yuri’s neck and tracing along his jaw. Moaning like he wants this, wants Yuri. 

But it's Victor who’s making him moan now, and Yuri doesn't like that. Reluctantly, he finally breaks away again to look behind him.

It’s something straight from his wildest, most aching fantasies. Vivid in the bright light of the room, every detail so sharp and shocking it takes his breath away. Victor is licking up and over Yuuri’s cock, flushed and beautiful, already hard under his mouth, and his silver hair falls in his eyes as he moves his head. His fine hands stroke Yuuri’s hips and thighs, pushing them apart, and everything is so familiar and easy and loving, like he's done it a thousand times before and still wants it so much. 

“Fuck,” Yuri breathes. It feels like his chest is caving in. Yuuri’s hands are still on him, Yuuri’s taste still in his mouth, but he wants this too, desperately, and he doesn't know how to have it. 

Victor pauses, looking up. He's breathing hard, still bent over Yuuri, and his eyes are cool and clear, beneath his straight silver brows. “Did you want something?” he asks, a little breathless.

Yuri’s gone all in. There's nothing to be gained from playing it cool, holding himself apart. “Can I — ?” he asks, raspy, but he's already moving down the bed.

Victor shifts up, making space. Yuri looks back and forth between him and Yuuri, a little wildly, and because tonight he can have anything he wants, he goes first for Victor.

Their mouths meet clumsily, harsh and surprising. Victor grunts as his teeth catch Yuri’s lip, and he’s still lying on his belly so Yuri has to lean down to kiss him, but Yuri doesn’t care. It’s so good, the way Victor tastes of Yuuri’s salty musk, the way he kisses back. Half laughing at first, like he'd make fun of Yuri if he could, but then giving in, kissing him for real. 

Victor’s hand goes to the back of Yuri’s head, though, fingers tight in his hair, and that isn’t at all what Yuri wants from him. He tosses his head, pulling free of Victor’s grip, and breaks off the kiss. “Leave it,” he growls in Russian, and then kisses Victor twice more, hard. “Show me.”

“Yurachka,” Victor says, serious and chiding, and switches back to English. “Are you saying you haven’t…?”

Yuri scoffs. He’s young, but he’s not innocent. “Show me what _he_ likes.”

Now Victor smiles, close and sharp and dangerous. “Of course. Come down here and find out.”

Yuri moves around until he’s lying with his head near Yuuri’s hip, legs stretched out in the other direction across the bed. He looks up at Yuuri to find him watching with one arm thrown over his brow, lips parted as he breathes hard. He’s still wearing his shirt and tie, rucked up to his chest now, rising and falling with his heavy breath.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, with a sigh and a faint, disbelieving smile. His eyes scrunch shut and he tilts his head back, fingers clenching in the sheets with a groan. Yuri looks back to see Victor with Yuuri’s cock in his mouth again, letting the thick head of it stretch his lips. 

What Yuuri likes, it seems, is to be teased beyond belief. Victor’s focused, intense, and he glances up often as he works over Yuuri’s cock with his lips and tongue, licking and mouthing it rather than sucking him off for real. It’s nothing like the times Yuri’s done this before, always quick and dirty and trying to finish as fast as possible, but Yuuri’s hips keep rocking and his sighs grow louder, turning into a strangled cry when Victor finally takes him all the way in.

It feels like Yuri watches them forever, holding his breath. He wanted to know what they do, and now he does, and the way they keep looking at each other makes it feel like there’s something hard and solid in his throat. They’ve been doing this for over a _year_ , and still. And still. 

But at last Victor pulls off and turns to Yuri, breathing hard. He licks his lips, obscenely slick and swollen, and nods. “Your turn.”

And fuck, that’s a challenge, and Yuri doesn’t back down when it matters like this. He looks up to see Yuuri watching him, less composed now but just as calm and sure, arching his hips in invitation. Victor moves over, and Yuri takes his place.

It feels like he’s waited a hundred years to hear Yuuri’s soft, drawn-out moan when he puts his lips on Yuuri’s cock. It’s wet and warm, and Yuri’s stomach lurches when he realizes that’s all from Victor’s mouth, their mingled taste. He flicks out his tongue, dragging along the salty indentation there, and Yuuri moans for him now, his leaking slit giving way to Yuri’s mouth.

He could just do this. Tease Yuuri more, wind him up and enjoy every small sensation, the way Victor did it. But Yuri wants to do things in his own way.

He opens wider, taking Yuuri as deep as he can. It’s not as much as he’d like yet, but he feels Yuuri’s thighs go tense, knees jerking up and one hand coming down hard. Yuuri’s moan this time is low and guttural, and when Yuri sucks harder, sliding up and back down again, he feels the desperate scratch of Yuuri’s nails against his scalp. 

All Victor’s teasing must have put him right on the edge, Yuri thinks, and works a little harder. This isn’t like skating, where he’s polished every aspect of his movements; he likes sex to be hard and fast, whether it’s on his own or with somebody else. It’s not fancy like what Victor was doing, but Yuri knows it feels good. 

His lips stay tight as he moves deeper each time, until Yuuri’s cock is pushing right into his throat, just this side of too much.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Yuuri gasps, hips bucking up. The coarse word is a filthy whine in his sweet voice, and Yuri grinds his own hips against the bed, heat flaring through him. He made that happen.

Victor’s hand descends on his shoulder. “That’s enough. Don’t get him too close.”

Under any other circumstances, Yuri would have kept going, just to show he could, but he’s too conscious now of being on borrowed time. He does linger just a moment, dragging his tongue up for one last lick, and then he lifts his head. 

Victor’s looking at him, head tilted to the side, not smiling at all now. He reaches out and cups Yuri’s face, thumb wiping wetness away from the corner of his mouth. Yuri whips his head around and closes his lips over Victor’s thumb. He sucks hard before pulling back slow, letting his teeth drag, and he doesn’t look away from Victor the whole time.

Victor does smile then, a startled half-laugh like when Yuri kissed him. He pats Yuri’s cheek, more roughly now. “We’d better move on.”

“Victor,” Yuuri says, from the head of the bed, sounding breathless. “I can take a little more.”

“Yurachka’s too impatient to wait,” Victor tells him, shifting to sit up on his knees. “I remember being so young.”

“It’s not because I’m young,” Yuri protests, as Victor leans forward, reaching into the nightstand. “It’s because — ” He stops, pressing his lips together tight. It would be so easy to give too much of himself away. “You’re impatient too.”

It’s true; as Victor moves Yuri can see he’s hard in his dress trousers, distinct even against the dark fabric. He wonders if that was him, or Yuuri, or both. 

Victor’s still smiling when he comes back, serene and composed again. He shakes his hair out of his eyes, that old familiar movement, and then offers a small bottle to Yuri. “Are you old enough to know what this is, then?”

Yuri makes a face, not even bothering to reply.

“Well, then,” Victor says, still holding out the bottle.

Yuri’s chest lurches, suddenly, as anxiety races through him. He’s done this just once to someone else, quickly and probably not well. He doesn’t trust himself right now to do it to Victor’s standards, or, more importantly, Yuuri’s. “You do it,” he says, gruffly.

Victor doesn’t quite give him a knowing smirk, but he tips his head sideways, looking at Yuri carefully, and nods. “All right. I’ll get him ready for you.”

At his words Yuri’s chest lurches again, but this time it’s pure arousal, hearing Victor say the words that way. He looks up the bed to meet Yuuri’s eyes, and like that he’s drawn back in, crawling up the bed to be closer to him. Yuuri smiles warmly and reaches for Yuri’s shoulders, pulling him down.

“Too many clothes,” Yuuri says softly, running his hands over Yuri’s chest. He slips his fingers under the suspenders and and snaps them, then tugs at the buttons of the shirt. Their faces are close and Yuri watches him, the way his eyelashes almost brush his cheeks, beneath his lowered eyelids as he undoes Yuri’s buttons one by one. Yuuri’s face is flushed, eyes bright, and Yuri thinks, _I did that_. Yuuri lets out a little gasp, biting his lip, as Victor moves between his legs, but this is all Yuri wants to think about, this moment between them as Yuuri undresses him.

Yuuri tugs at his suspenders again, and Yuri has to sit back to shrug them off, then pull his shirt from his trousers. It hangs open over his chest, and Yuuri’s smile is sweet as his gaze sweeps over Yuri’s body.

“What,” Yuri says.

“You,” Yuuri says. “You look…”

“I look _what_.”

Yuuri smiles broader. “Good. You look good, Yuri. Come back here.”

This time Yuri knows how he likes to be kissed. Not in the hard, hungry way that Yuri’s used to, fueled by desperate passion and always the urgency of time, but slick and sliding, withdrawing and returning, tasting and exploring. He’s starting to understand this, the rhythm of leaving Yuuri wanting, making Yuuri chase his mouth and ask for more. He can feel the tension building in Yuuri, with the growing strength of Victor’s movements, but the way Yuuri’s kissing back is all for him.

“Take your shirt off,” Yuuri whispers, his hands pushing beneath. He runs his nails up to Yuri’s bare shoulders, and arches up to kiss him harder. “Trousers too. Everything.”

Yuri can hardly make himself pull back to comply, but he does. He takes off his shirt, tossing it on the floor, and then gets up on his knees to strip down his pants, never looking away from Yuuri’s eyes on him. It’s not graceful but he does it fast, and then he’s left in a a pair of black briefs, covering but not hiding the evidence of just how impatient he feels.

“And those,” Yuuri says.

Yuri’s never undressed with someone watching him like this. It’s always been a heated tangle, taking off just enough clothes to make it work, moving together in the dark. He knows his cheeks are flushed, but Yuuri looks as into this as he is, and after a moment of dizzy hesitation he does it, plunging his fingers into the waistband of his briefs to shove them down. 

He doesn’t know what he wants. He’ll die if Yuuri smiles, or laughs, or does anything but what he does, which is to swallow hard before saying “Come here again,” low and steady. 

Yuuri breathes hard against his mouth when they kiss, a whimpering rhythm that Yuri understands when he breaks away and finally turns to look down at what Victor’s doing. Head lying on Yuuri’s powerful thigh, fingers shining and slick as they rock into him, smiling as serenely as before. Victor smiles wider when he meets Yuri’s gaze, his hand stilling.

“Are you ready, Yurio?” Victor asks. “I think he is.”

“ _He’s_ right here,” Yuuri says, breathless. 

“Well,” Victor says. “Are you?”

Yuri’s never felt as useless and excluded as in this moment, caught in what’s between them. He can feel Yuuri’s stare, see the serious intensity of Victor’s gaze, and he knows they’re speaking silent words. They don’t smile, and then they do, and Yuuri nods as Victor bends his head to press a kiss to his hip.

“I’m ready,” Yuuri says, gently.

Victor sits up again, reaching back into the nightstand drawer. Yuri turns to help unbutton and strip off Yuuri’s dress shirt, using two hands to unknot his tie, and when he looks back there’s a condom in Victor’s hand. 

“Do you know how — ” Victor starts.

“Shut up,” Yuri says, and takes it.

He knows he can put a condom on with speed if not with grace, except tonight his fingers are clumsy and he feels the heat rising in his face as he picks at the rubber, trying to unroll it. He isn't drunk, but the drinks aren't helping, and he wants to die when Yuuri’s hands cover his own, gently.

“Let me,” Yuuri says.

He has to shut his eyes as Yuuri strokes him, smoothing the condom down. No one’s ever done this to him before and it's so intimate, like Yuuri’s taking care of him. In this moment, he can imagine what it would be like to give Yuuri everything, to do anything for him, to give up a life or make a new one, the way Victor did.

“Let’s go,” Yuri says, roughly. “You’re ready. Right?”

His gaze flicks up. Yuuri is even more flushed and disheveled than before, and he nods, making a noise of assent, tongue flicking out between his parted lips.

Yuri can't resist. He stretches upwards, reckless, nearly throwing himself on top of Yuuri in his desperate need to kiss him again. Yuuri makes a startled noise against his mouth, but his kiss is just as hungry as Yuri feels, and he cups the back of Yuri’s head, holding him close. It feels like it's anchoring Yuri, reconnecting them, this shared urgency.

When he finally lifts up, he knows Victor is staring at them again. He doesn’t turn around, but he hears Victor clear his throat. “Ah, to be so young and eager.”

“Go to hell,” Yuri says, though his voice is rough and trembling enough that the insult loses its sting. “Your boyfriend is hot.”

 _And now I’m going to fuck him_ , he can’t quite bring himself to say, as he shifts to kneel between Yuuri’s legs. Yuuri guides him over, hands on his hips, and all he can do is watch Yuuri’s face, eyes downcast as he takes hold of Yuri’s cock and pushes it against himself. There’s high color in Yuuri’s cheeks, insistent fire in Yuri’s own face, tension ringing in his ears, and he can feel Victor behind him, watching. Yuri’s throat is dry as he swallows, between heavy breaths.

Yuuri looks up, suddenly. His eyes are wide and sweet and serious, and he puts a hand on Yuri’s hot face. “All right?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says, too fast. “Of course.”

Yuuri’s expression relaxes into a smile, the gentle, dangerous one that started all this. He strokes Yuri’s jaw, his cheek. “Come on, then,” he murmurs, and adds, softly, “World champion.”

Desperate desire blazes through Yuri, and he shuts his eyes and pushes in hard.

It’s a cascade of sensation, a firestorm, a flood. Yuuri’s tight heat, and his hand still on Yuri’s face, and the way his knees come up, pressing against Yuri’s hips. The _noise_ he makes, soft and intimate, breath brushing Yuri’s lips as he begins to move. Yuri can’t think of anything else, not Victor behind them or the gold medal in his suitcase, just the outrageous pleasure of this, of Yuuri letting him in.

Last year he heard them, in a hotel room the night after the Worlds gala. The walls were thin enough that Yuuri’s moans came through, just Victor’s name over and over. He heard Victor, too, telling Yuuri, _wider — just let me —_ as Yuuri moaned _please, please_ , until Yuri leapt out of bed in search of his headphones. That night he fell into an angry, troubled sleep, blasting Russian EDM and trying not to think about having Yuuri that way, overwhelmed and begging for it. 

He’s tried not to think about it since then, and failed a hundred times, but tonight Yuuri is nothing like that at all.

When Yuri opens his eyes he sees Yuuri smiling at him again, pleased and confident, like when he won at the Ice Castle all those months ago. He strokes Yuri’s face, and then reaches down to curve his hands around Yuri’s bare ass, pulling him in. “You can fuck me harder,” Yuuri breathes, quiet, just between the two of them. “I can take it. I like it.”

“Oh fuck,” Yuri gasps, his head hanging down, and does it.

He’s aware, dimly, of Victor stretching out on his side beside them on the other bed. Victor doesn’t touch, but he looks, and the weight of his stare is one more sensation in the maelstrom that’s overloading Yuri now, as he snaps his hips harder and faster. Yuuri hauls him in on each stroke, with the grip of his hands and the warmth and strength of his body, giving and present, and when he groans, “that’s it, Yuri, just like that,” Yuri shudders and comes, sharp and sudden, pushing his face into Yuuri’s shoulder and biting down to muffle his yell.

For a while after, panting into wet hot dizzy darkness, he thinks he might be dead, and then he only wishes he was. 

“Yuri,” he hears in his ear, kind but practical. “Could you move?”

Yuri moves. He rolls off on the other side with a groan, hands coming up to cover his face. He takes a deep, rasping breath, sick shame pulsing through him. All those months of secret, furtive longing, and his big chance lasted two minutes, if that. 

They will never, ever let him live this down.

“Yuri,” Victor says, but it’s low, full of love and desire. He means _Yuuri_. Yuri feels them shifting around, getting up and getting closer, and then he hears the soft wet sound of their kissing. For a moment the shame is replaced by good, clean rage — of course they’ve already forgotten him — before he feels Yuuri’s touch on his chest. 

“Sit up,” Yuuri says, softly. Yuri lowers his hand from his face and looks over to see that Yuuri’s on his hands and knees now. Victor’s behind him, undoing his belt and the zipper of his trousers.

“You guys want me to fuck off now?” Yuri asks. He snaps out the words as harshly as he can, to make up for the way his heart’s sinking.

“I want you to watch,” Yuuri says. “And then you can go again, now that you’ve, ah, taken the edge off.”

He smiles, a little teasing, but with so much promise and sincerity that Yuri can’t say all the bitter things that are burning this throat. 

Instead he slides back to sit against the head of the bed, making himself watch them. Victor’s stroking himself slick, kneeling behind Yuuri, and Yuri’s chest clenches tight, waiting for some careless jibe from him when their eyes meet. Victor only shakes his hair out of his face, though, one hand going to hold Yuuri’s hip steady. He’s still dressed, zipper pulled open to reveal his erection, and it’s somehow even more obscene against his dark clothing than if he were naked. Victor looks hungry, eyes bright as he runs his fingers down the beautiful curve of Yuuri’s back before taking himself in hand again.

Yuri stares at him as he pushes slowly inside. Victor’s answering gaze is cool as always but there’s a fire that Yuri’s only seen in competition, when that naked flame of the desire to win burns without artifice. Victor has always been a heartless bastard beneath it all, whatever his public image, and sometimes it feels like only Yuri and the people at the Champions Club rink know it. 

But there’s another side to him now, something Yuuri has brought out in him. Victor rocks his hips gentle and slow, one hand caressing Yuuri’s back again, and the heat in his eyes turns benevolent, loving, possessive. He moves like he’s holding himself back, but Yuri can tell he’s showing off; the lovely liquid snap of his hips, grinding gracefully into Yuuri, the way he doesn’t break their stare.

Yuri’s the one who does, finally. He has to know what this is doing to Yuuri, how Yuuri’s face looks when Victor’s fucking him, even if it haunts him forever. 

When he tears his eyes away to meet Yuuri’s, he can see that Yuuri has been watching him, seeing it all. The way Yuri’s been staring back at Victor, his mouth open as he watches them both, and the fruitless, aching, maddening hunger he feels. Yuuri knows everything.

But Yuri knows some things, too. There's that sweet, patient look in Yuuri’s brown eyes, as he arches back into Victor’s slow thrusts, like he's humoring Victor, giving him what he wants for now. Like he wants something more.

“Give it to him harder,” Yuri tells Victor. “He can take it.”

Victor’s eyes widen, silver brows rising. He strokes Yuuri’s back, questioning, and Yuuri nods. “Yeah. Like that.”

The bed shakes with the force of it, as Victor gains strength. Hard, fast, each slamming thrust shoving Yuuri’s lithe body forward. Victor bites his lower lip tight between his teeth, fingers clenched on Yuuri’s hips, and he lets out a low grunt of effort whenever they meet, his powerful, luminescent body on display.

He’s not the one that Yuri’s staring at now, though. It’s Yuuri, frowning as he pants hard, braced against the force of Victor’s thrusts and losing a little ground each time. He’s less composed but no less sure, a man who has everything he wants, as Victor moans _Yuuri_ and fucks him even faster. 

Yuuri reaches out as he comes closer, making Yuri gasp with the touch of his fingers between Yuri’s sprawled legs. He’d forgotten he was still wearing the condom, limp and crumpled, but Yuuri strips it off and tosses it on the floor before leaning down, lips parted. Yuri’s never gotten hard so fast in his _life_ , like his body knows what’s about to happen before his brain does, sliding down the bed.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Yuri chokes out, as Yuuri gets his mouth on his cock. 

It’s hot and filthy and incredible. He’s still messy from before, but he can tell that Yuuri doesn’t care. No — Yuuri _likes_ it, the way his eyes flutter shut and his tongue is everywhere. Licking the shaft, cleaning him up, and then mouthing the head of Yuri’s hardening cock, lips delicate as he pulls the foreskin back and presses his tongue against the sensitive skin beneath. 

Yuri can only stare, feeling like he’s in freefall from space, hurtling down towards earth. Victor’s still slamming in, breathing like a freight train with their hips slapping together, but Yuuri’s touch is lingering and intent, like they have all the time in the world. He groans, helpless, and grips Yuuri’s bare shoulders with a disbelieving gasp.

And then Yuuri stops teasing him, the way Victor does this, and takes him in fast and deep, the way Yuri likes. Yuri lets out a strangled, embarrassing cry, feeling the incredible intimacy of pushing into that wet heat, and clutches Yuuri’s shoulders harder. The pleasure rockets through him, too much already even though he just came a little while ago.

“Yuuri,” he whimpers.

Yuuri looks up, warm and bright, his mouth full.

“I — “ Yuri clears his throat with a hurried cough. “I don’t wanna come yet. I want…” 

He trails off, eyes caught by Victor in the background, watching them even as he keeps moving. Victor’s face is pink, bangs sweaty and stringy, and Yuri’s seen him like this a million times in the rink but never like _this_ , on the verge of coming undone.

Yuuri lifts up, nodding. “I know. You can have me again, after.”

“Hurry up, old man,” Yuri says, roughly, to Victor now. “I want my turn again.”

Victor laughs, tossing his hair back out of his face, but there’s steel in his eyes as he holds Yuuri’s hips tight, fucking him with quick, determined thrusts. Once again Yuri can only watch as they move with coordinated grace, their bodies in perfect rhythm. He can see how Yuuri’s rocking with each thrust and drag, and the way they arch to meet each other in tiny ways, perfectly attuned. Victor shuts his eyes, mouth an open grimace, and then finally his deep thrusts shift to a short quick stutter of his hips, punctuated with heavy, loud groans as he comes. 

Yuuri smiles the whole time, holding steady against Victor’s movements, letting him take what he wants. 

“Ah,” Victor moans, soft and high. “Yuuri.”

He doesn't stretch it out, and suddenly Yuri imagines that it could mean either of them, both of them. He clenches his teeth, trying to fight the rush of useless, unwelcome feelings. Victor finally stops moving, bent over gasping and red-faced, and Yuri says, snidely, “That was sweet, but I'm gonna make him come now.”

Victor just looks at him, still breathing hard, and then his hand strokes over Yuuri’s belly and down. Yuuri lets out a startled moan, and Yuri can tell from the sounds and the movement what Victor’s doing to him. Jerking him off, never taking his eyes off Yuri.

“Victor,” Yuuri sighs, a little protesting.

“That's it, I want you to feel good,” Victor murmurs, in Russian. He kisses over Yuuri’s back, still whispering encouragement, and Yuuri moans. Maybe he understands, or maybe he just likes the sound of Victor’s voice, a loving, singsong purr as Victor keeps stroking him. The noise is obscene, wet and slick, and Yuri struggles up to his elbows, feeling like his face is on fire. _Fuck this._

The movement makes Yuuri look up at him, and there's startled tenderness in his expression, beneath the haze of pleasure. “Victor,” he says again, firmer now. “Tonight is for Yuri. I promised him.”

It should make Yuri happy, hearing those words, but there's an empty ache in being reminded what this really is. A reward, one evening out of a lifetime. He hates feeling like this, shut out and shoved aside, and it's a million times worse here in their bed, watching Victor touch Yuuri so intimately. Somehow Yuuri’s kindness makes it even harder to bear.

Bile rises in his throat, along with the urge to scramble off the bed, leaving with some dignity intact and a few choice insults tossed over his shoulder, but for once that doesn't seem like the right thing. He’ll feel even more like a child standing out in the hall, the door shut behind him, now that he knows exactly what's on the other side. Yuuri invited him in tonight, and Victor did too, and Yuri would be stupid to throw that away.

He reaches out to touch Yuuri’s face and makes himself speak low, if not softly. “You said if I did whatever you said, I could have you tonight.”

Yuuri nods. “I did.”

“So,” Yuri says. “Tell me to do something.”

Yuuri smiles at him. “Lie back.”

He reaches down, gently putting his hand over Victor’s, stilling him. He turns his head, and Yuri catches the soft murmur of words between them. _Can you let him have this? Can you let me?_

Yuri doesn't hear the answer, but Victor leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s lips.

Then Yuuri’s moving forward, his knees sliding along Yuri’s thighs as he straddles them. Yuri reaches up to put his hands on Yuuri’s waist while he settles himself, rocking his hips until they make contact. He feels Yuuri’s thighs tensing, Yuuri’s body lowering down against his, and his heart beats so fast, sick with anticipation. It's going to be good this time, and he's going to do it _right_. He's going to show them what he can do.

And then Yuuri stops. 

“Damn,” he says, breathless, turning around. “Victor, was that the last condom?”

Yuri groans, his heart still pounding, as Victor crawls forward to rummage through the drawer. Victor takes a long time, making a discontented _hmm_ , and Yuri feels the letdown flooding through him. He wants this so much. “I'm clean,” he says, in a rush. “I mean I was the last time, and I haven't since— “ He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and closing his mouth over the desperate babble of words. “I'm OK, I swear.”

He feels Yuuri’s hand on his chest, heavy and serious. “Yuri. You should never let the moment carry you away. You have to be safe no matter what, and you should always — “

Yuri’s eyes fly open, and he glares up. “I trust you guys, OK?” he snaps. “Unless there’s something I should know?”

Yuuri just shakes his head wordlessly, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“OK,” Yuri says, softer. He strokes his hands over Yuuri’s waist, the shapely curve of his hips. “Please,” he says, almost inaudibly, and clenches his jaw as he hears himself say it, everything he’s feeling laid bare in his voice.

But Yuuri doesn’t take advantage of his weakness, the vulnerability of Yuri’s naked desire. He just nods, tipping his head back, and lowers himself down again.

It’s slick and easy, one smooth push and then Yuri’s inside. He groans, the heat coming back into his face as he understands why. It’s not the traces of Victor’s mouth he’s feeling now, but the way he’s left Yuuri’s body so wet and open, ready for this. Yuuri’s hard because of Victor too, everything stirred to life by Victor’s touches.

But it isn’t Victor that Yuuri’s looking down at now, shoulders heaving and his eyes so dark. He caresses Yuri’s chest, fingertips tracing through the fine downy hair that’s just beginning to grow, settled on Yuri’s lap with Yuri’s cock inside him. It’s a suspended, heart-stopping moment, and Yuri stares up, trying to take this in, the intimacy of being looked at that way. 

Then Yuuri reaches back, bracing his hands behind himself, pushing hard against Yuri’s thighs as he arches his body up. He comes down slow before lifting up again, rocking his hips into Yuri’s hands. Again, faster, smoother, finding a rhythm.

It’s beautiful, incredible. His powerful thighs are spread, working hard, and Yuri can see the gleam of wetness there, spilling down. _Victor._ He holds fast, holds hard, watching the strength of Yuuri’s lean body and broad shoulders, the strain of his erection when he moves up and the way he bites his lower lip against a deep moan when he comes down. It’s so much more than Yuri ever dreamed of having, overwhelming and intense, almost unbearably erotic. He lets Yuuri ride him hard, taking his pleasure, until at last Yuuri pauses, panting heavily. Yuri draws his legs up then, planting his feet flat, and Yuuri shifts forward onto his knees, bracing his hands on Yuri’s chest and lifting his hips.

Yuri drives up, into that open space, and Yuuri cries out, sharp. “Oh,” he gasps, as he rocks back into Yuri’s thrusts.

He has to be close. He’s been fucked three times, had their mouths and hands all over him, and even though Yuri knows his physical stamina is unreal, it can’t last forever. Yuuri’s cock is still hard and flushed, dripping at the tip, and Yuri wonders if he could make him come just like this, without touching him. The thought sends a violent shiver through his whole body , shoulders hunching up around his ears. He’s never made that happen.

That’s if he can last himself. Even though he came not long ago, he hasn’t done this bare before and it’s so much, the heat and closeness, seeing Yuuri above him like this. He sets his jaw, thumbs tight on Yuuri’s hips and fingers spreading his ass, and fucks up faster, pulling Yuuri onto every thrust. Yuuri leans hard on his chest, head hanging down, and they stare into each other's eyes as they move together in this new rhythm. There’s a shift, a change in the way they fit, and then Yuuri lets out a deep, throaty moan, his nails scratching as his fingers curl down.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “ _Like that_ , Yuri.”

Yuuri moans louder as it builds, eyes squeezing shut, slamming his hips down exactly the way he wants. Yuri breathes in hard desperate pants, his face red and burning, just wanting to see this through. He wants to make Yuuri Katsuki come on his cock, on the night he became the world champion, and then he’ll never ask for anything again. 

“Come on,” Yuri gasps, struggling for air. “Please.”

This time Yuuri smiles at the word, and then he catches in a breath before letting out another deep moan. He sounds so soft, after all this, that Yuri doesn’t realize what’s happening until he feels hot liquid against his belly. He glances down then, startled, to see Yuuri’s cock pulsing with thick spurts of come. 

Yuri groans, low and raw, overwhelmed by the sight. He keeps moving, clutching Yuuri’s hips as he pounds into him, and it makes Yuuri wince but he doesn't pull away. 

“Slow down,” Victor says, low. “Take your time.”

He didn't even notice Victor coming close again, lying next to them, but when he jerks his head to the side Victor is there. Watching, smiling, head resting on his hand. There's no steel in his eyes now, just a soft fondness that might be infuriating if Yuri weren't so close to coming that his balls are aching, breath whistling between his clenched teeth.

“Go easy,” Victor says reaching out to rest his hand on Yuri’s stomach, slowing him. “Just — “

Above him, Yuuri shifts, sliding his hands beneath Yuri’s shoulders and leaning in close. “Just like that.”

He leans closer, and Yuri whines against his mouth as they kiss again. It’s almost too good, and Yuri wants to stay here forever. The sweet, sweet drag as he pumps in and out, slow and measured now, and Yuuri’s knees pressed to his sides and lips pressed to his mouth, even Victor’s warm hand resting between them, right where Yuuri spilled. Yuri’s whole body is singing, surrounded and held, an equilibrium of perfect pleasure here with the two people he wants most in the world.

It can’t last forever, though, and it doesn’t. Yuuri kisses him a little harder, the tip of his tongue slipping in, and squeezes Yuri tight inside, fierce and fluttering. Yuri chokes, biting Yuuri’s lip, and then breaks away, tipping his head back with a harsh cry as the balance is upended, ecstasy pouring through him. He digs his nails into Yuuri’s hips, thrusting hard a few times before he arches up to hold himself still and shaking against the torrent of sensation.

“Fuck,” Yuri gasps, helpless, soundless. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

He collapses down, the world dark and swirling around him. He’s dimly aware of Victor stroking his stomach a few times before withdrawing, rolling over. Yuuri kisses over his throat gently and moves away too, lying down on Yuri’s other side. The silence is loud, and Yuri shivers even as he’s burning up, beneath Yuuri’s arm resting over his chest.

“Good,” Yuuri whispers softly in his ear. “That was good.”

He holds Yuri a little tighter and then sits up, propped on his elbow. Yuri can tell he’s looking at Victor, another silent conversation, and he keeps his eyes shut a while longer, waiting tense and hopeless for whatever the outcome will be. 

“You enjoyed that,” Yuuri finally says, with a laugh.

“I did,” Victor says. “As you can tell.”

Yuri finally opens his eyes and turns his head to see that Victor’s hard again, rising up firm and proud. He can’t help staring longer this time, really taking him in, because of course Victor’s gifted in this way like everything else. 

“Uh,” Yuri says, raspy. “Did you need…”

Victor laughs. “It’s just an erection. They go away.” He sighs, stretching his legs on the bed and his arms above his head before folding them beneath. “Besides, I’m tired. It’s been a long day — a long season, right?”

Yuri snorts. “Maybe if you’re old.”

“I am old,” Victor says, and winks. “Nearly thirty. I’m dead, in skating years. Time to retire to running my own shows, now that the cares of the world have passed me by.”

“Bullshit,” Yuri says. “You’re as mad as I am about not winning the Olympics.”

“Ah,” Victor says. His glance drifts up, behind Yuri. “Well, maybe not quite as much.”

Yuri realizes with a flush what Victor’s been doing. Talking like this was the downtime after a hard practice at the rink, distracting him from what just happened and gentling him back into the real world. Reminding him of what this was, just a brief moment when he was allowed to be a part of the deep, intricate way that Victor and Yuuri are entwined.

He coughs. “I should go.”

Victor’s glance flicks back, and now there's neither steel nor softness, no laughter or careless facade. He’s studying Yuri seriously, thinking, until at last Yuri says it again, a question this time. “I….should go, right?”

He’s not sure who he’s asking, but he feels them look at each other again, over his head. At last, Yuuri’s hand slides back across his chest, palm resting lightly over his heart. “You don't have to.”

When Yuri looks at Victor, he sees the calm satisfaction that’s always there when the decision is in Yuuri’s hands, the restaurant choice or the better medal. “Stay,” Victor says, and reaches up to touch Yuri’s face. “You won tonight. I'm proud of you. You've come a long way.”

Earlier tonight, he congratulated Yuri with words like these. At the time it felt condescending, insincere, while he and Yuuri were more concerned with yet another dramatic chapter of their love story together. Now, though, Yuri thinks that maybe the words are the same, but he’s hearing them differently.

Yuri shuts his eyes. His throat is so tight, but he manages to nod, making a gruff sound of acknowledgement. 

“I’ll be back in a little while,” he hears Victor say, before shifting, getting up. 

Lying like this, still, eyes closed, it feels like everything is crashing over him. What just happened here, and the drinks he had downstairs; the two days of competition and all the long months of effort before that, pushing himself to the very edge of his abilities only to land on the third step of the Olympic podium last month. He won tonight but it was just an afterthought, a meaningless epilogue to the real competition he’d already lost.

This is like that morning in Korea all over again, falling just short of them. Yuri does things his way or not at all, keeping responsibility for both his failures and his successes, but once again he gave his best and it wasn’t enough.

“Are you cold?” Yuuri whispers in his ear.

He is, but part of him needs it, the deep, full-body shivers that make his jaw clench like he’s holding himself together by will alone. He knew this was a mistake, but he wanted it anyway, and now here he is.

“Here,” Yuuri says, and pulls up the sheets to cover them both.

Yuri drifts. The sheets are warmer but nothing like Yuuri’s heat, and the shocking nearness of his unclothed body, arm still across Yuri’s chest. Yuri’s never stayed the night with anyone before.

He's nearly asleep when he hears the bathroom door open and shut, the light clicking off. Yuri tenses, waiting to be surrounded by them again, suffocating and wonderful at once, but Victor crosses the room, circling the beds in the dark. 

It's not as though he wanted Victor next to him all night, Yuri thinks; everyone knows Victor talks in his sleep. He doesn't know if he could stand being between them again either, so aware of being just a temporary barrier, with meaningful glances exchanged across him. But as Victor settles himself on the far side of the bed there's an ache, cold and sour, in Yuri’s deepest and most hated part.

Yuuri doesn't move away, he has to give him that. Victor pushes between them, arm around Yuuri’s middle, knuckles pressing against Yuri’s side, and then gives a heavy sigh, pulling Yuuri in tight. Yuuri gives an answering sigh, drawing his knee up against Yuri’s leg and arching back, and Yuri doesn't know who it's for, Victor or him or both.

He knows he should go. Of course he should go. But he stays, because he can't pull away from their heat, lying just beside him and far out of reach. It will burn him eventually, he knows that too, but he can't help wanting just one night like this, almost in their orbit, sharing whatever he can of the magic between them. 

Yuuri’s already breathing slow and deep. It feels so good, the intimacy of having his body going heavy and loose against him, and Yuri loses himself in it. He can't sleep like this, tangled up with another person and so aware of everything, but he knows Yuuri is doing it for him, sharing this for one night.

Victor’s fingers move against Yuri’s ribs, almost a caress. Maybe it is. “Sleep well,” he says in Russian, low and gentle, and for a moment that's just for Yuri too.


End file.
